


Breaking Leslie

by mouseratstan



Category: Parks and Recreation
Genre: 6x11 Farmers Market, Choking, D/s, Degradation, Dirty Talk, Dom!Ben, F/M, Fighting, Orgasm Denial, Pure Smut, Rough Sex, Smut, Spanking, Sub!Leslie, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-07
Updated: 2020-07-07
Packaged: 2021-03-05 00:34:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,269
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25125502
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mouseratstan/pseuds/mouseratstan
Summary: The spark of competition lights in Ben's eyes, and Leslie recognizes it very well. "I like a good challenge," she whispers. "You think you can break me, Wyatt?""Do I think I can turn bratty-sub Leslie who likes to talk back into a sweet, complicit submissive?" Ben grins, holding her tight. "Oh, I know that I can."
Relationships: Leslie Knope/Ben Wyatt
Comments: 7
Kudos: 39





	Breaking Leslie

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mysticalmultifandom](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mysticalmultifandom/gifts), [niseag](https://archiveofourown.org/users/niseag/gifts).



> For Ness and Aly, to complete tonight's horny trinity of smut fics.<3

“Can we please just… let this go? I told you I would look into this, but it'll be a lot easier to do if you don't make my decisions for me.”

“I have to, Ben!” Leslie exclaims, throwing her hands in the air. “Because how do I know you'll make the  _ right  _ choice?”

“Oh, the  _ right choice?  _ Really? You just mean  _ your  _ choice?”

“They're one in the same, really.”

They're standing in their living room after dinner, going over the same argument for the hundredth time. It's a tired argument, with words like  _ chard, farmers market, rules, City Manager.  _ And it doesn't seem to end, or have a proper solution.

Ben puts his head in his hands, massaging his brow. “God, Leslie, you have to understand that I’m City Manager now—”

“Exactly! So you can help me with this!”

“No, it means I'm your  _ boss  _ now. Even more so than I was when we met. And I need you to understand that.”

“Oh, really? You're gonna pull the boss card?”

“I am. Because I kind of need you to start respecting that.”

Leslie crosses her arms over her chest, looking up at her husband with an air of indignation. “I respect it! I just… never quit. You can't break me, Ben Wyatt.”

And maybe this comment makes Ben pause. Maybe he immediately starts to think of things he shouldn't as he takes a step closer to her, and she doesn't cower. Maybe his hands ache to grab her.

“You're a brat,” he hisses. “You're the biggest brat I know.”

She meets his accusation with a smile. “And I always will be! You ought to know that better than anyone.”

“Oh?” He quirks a brow, takes another step closer. She still doesn't move, and he eyes the wall situated right behind her.  _ Ideal.  _ “Is that a challenge?”

The spark of competition lights in Ben’s eyes, and Leslie recognizes it very well. His arms raise so his fingertips graze along her arms, holding her so gently that it sends a shiver down her spine. “Maybe it is,” she whispers. “I like a good challenge. You think you can break me, Wyatt?”

“Do I think I can turn bratty-sub Leslie who likes to talk back into a sweet, complicit submissive?” Ben grins, and his grip tightens on her biceps, his nails digging in. “I know that I can. Just say the words.”

She bites down on a smirk, her voice turning low. “Oh, I’d love to see you try,  _ Mr. City Manager.  _ Just know you'll lose.  _ I never break.” _

With unrestrained force, Ben pushes Leslie until she's  _ slamming  _ into the wall behind them. She gasps at the impact, the wall rattling, and he hoists her up, pinning her with his own body. His hand snakes up to wrap around her throat, using his thumb to lift her chin, forcing her to look him directly in the eye.

Ben grins, and puts his lips close to her ear. “I'll have you begging on your knees by the end of the night.”

Leslie laughs, almost taunting under her breath, strained from the force of his fingers around her throat. “We’ll see about that one.”

He squeezes her throat, pushing his face directly in front of hers, so close she can see every detail of his face, feel his breath on her skin. She's held up only by his body, her feet not touching the floor. “You remember the safe word?”

“I do,” she breathes. “I won't need it.”

Ben doesn't respond with words, crushing his lips to hers in a kiss so forceful that it's breathtaking. She gasps against him, parting her lips to grant him entrance. Her fingers ache to reach for him, curling around his shoulders and digging her nails into his shirt, just for him to reach back, grasp her wrists, and press them against the wall.

“No touching,” he hisses, his fingers digging into her skin. “Not until I say so. Do you understand?”

_ Oh, he makes it all too easy to fight back.  _ “I don't think I do, actually. What did you say? That I can move?” Aiming to be as bratty as possible, she struggles against his hold, pulling at her wrists and actually breaking  _ free—  _ but she knows it's only because he wasn't expecting it. Leslie dips out from under him and starts to run, fighting the giggling under her breath, darting down the hallway and to their bedroom. “Did you say I could do this?” she asks with mock innocence, looking over her shoulder. “I mean, this is allowed, right?”

Ben growls under his breath, reaching for his wife but missing her by just an inch, his fingers brushing her shirt before she's off. “Goddammit, Les,” he calls out to her, running down the hallway in pursuit of her.  _ “When  _ I catch you— because I am going to catch you— I’m going to have to punish you. You're just making this harder on yourself.” 

He stops and looks around their bedroom, where she ran in, but he can't seem to find her. There's a soft giggling from somewhere, a source nearly impossible to identify, because the closet is wide open and she's nowhere to be seen. Ben narrows his eyes, wandering closer to the bed.

“Every second you spend hiding from me, the worse your punishment is going to get,” he says, his jaw set. His pants are straining and his hands are aching to get a hold of her, to bend her over and spank her until she screams, and—

Leslie giggles. She sounds close.

His eyes narrow in on the bed, and it clicks.  _ Underneath.  _ He slowly starts to crouch down, lifting up the sheets, when there's a flash of blonde hair and she's rolling out the other side, jumping to her feet.

“Aha!” she exclaims, pointing at him. “You can't punish me if you can't catch me,  _ Wyatt.” _

She spins and runs out again, and really, it's all the permission Ben needs. He's been going  _ easy,  _ way too easy on her, and he’ll never win this bet if he doesn't step up his game. She's actively taunting him, running up and down the halls and laughing as he chases after her, but no more.  _ No more.  _ He's got her this time.

He runs back down the hall and finds her in the living room again, inching backwards as he gets closer.

“Leslie,” he warns her, “this is the final warning. I'll go easy on you if you give up now.”

True to her nature, she only grins. “You think it's that easy to break me?”

Something in Ben just  _ snaps,  _ and suddenly he's moving with a speed he didn't even know he had in him, bounding forward and capturing one of her wrists. She screams, moving to tear away from him, but once again, Ben is quicker, and he is stronger. It's one of those times he's grateful his wife is so tiny. He pulls on her wrist and spins her around, bending her over the back of their couch, his hand on her lower back to get her steady.

Leslie continues to huff in frustration, putting up quite the struggle by pulling at her wrist and kicking her feet against the back of the couch.  _ “Ben!”  _ she whines, long and drawn out, but he doesn't relent, not for a second. He presses himself against her to keep her in place as his free hand works at removing his tie, tearing it from his collar, before shoving Leslie’s head down into the cushions and pulling her wrists to her back.

“Stop whining,” he tells her, clicking his tongue in disappointment. “I  _ did  _ warn you, you know. You knew this was coming.”

This doesn't stop her from fighting him, of course, because it wouldn't be as much fun if she didn't give him a challenge.  _ “No!”  _ she shouts, kicking her feet again, her hips shifting back and forth from where they're cutting into the back of the couch. “Unhand me, you… you… you  _ jerk.” _

It's a weak attempt at a comeback, but at least it's sufficiently dramatic. Leslie feels proud.

Ben, meanwhile, is wrapping his tie around both her wrists, knotting it so tightly that there's no possible way she can escape, the fabric is practically cutting into her skin. With her hands tied around her back, her best means of fighting Ben reside with her legs, but he absolutely has his own plans with those.

He unclasps her pants and slides them down her legs, tossing them to the side. His fingers pause, hooked in the waistband of her underwear, feeling the way she starts to shake. “Do you have something to say?” he asks her, his thumb brushing gently over the curve of her ass. “Anything better than calling me a jerk?”

“Nope,” she says, shaking her head. She's staring upside down at the couch cushions, kicking her legs once again. “Let go of me.”

Ben sighs— she really does enjoy making this difficult. But it's fine, he likes it that way. It'll just be more satisfying in the end. “Alright,” he tells her, “you asked for it.”

He pulls her underwear from her hips, tossing them to the couch, sliding his hands gently over her ass. She's careful, trying her best not to shake, or make any indication that he's getting to her, simply squeezing her eyes shut and burying her face into the cushions.  _ Stay strong, don't break, don't let him win.  _ She doesn't want to give Ben the satisfaction of winning and seeing that smug grin on his face. 

Ben’s fingers slide down her legs, her thighs pressed together, and she sucks in a breath. It's coming, she knows it is. He's been too gentle. His touch leaves her, and just as she wonders if he's coming back at all, his palm  _ slams  _ against her backside with enough force to leave a mark, shocking Leslie enough to make her jump, yelping in surprise.

He leans over her and presses his hand to her mouth, his fingers long enough to cover half her face. She whispers against his palm, and curses herself for the noise.  _ “Shut the fuck up,”  _ he hisses in her ear, and her eyes flutter open to look at him— he’s holding her face up by a fistful of her hair. “Scream, and it gets worse. Do you understand?”

Leslie doesn't answer, not even when he removes his hand from her mouth.

His palm comes down to spank her again, with just as much force as the first, and she twitches.  _ “I said, do you understand?” _

_ “Yes,”  _ she gasps. “Yes, god, fine, I understand.”

Ben grins, rubbing the growing red mark on her ass. “Good. We’re making some progress.”

“So you don't have to punish me?”

“Oh god, no, I'm definitely still going to punish you. With the way you ran away from me, you really think I could let that go?” He shakes his head, bringing his hand down to spank her other cheek. She shudders, biting down on her bottom lip. “No, I'm not stopping until you’re begging for me to fuck you.”

_ God,  _ and the way he says it turns Leslie on, making her rub her thighs together, hoping to god he won't notice. There's a heat low in her belly and an ache in her chest as his hand comes down again, Leslie biting down on her lip even harder to keep from crying out. “That won't happen,” she gasps, refusing to give in already.  _ It's too early. _

“Oh, it will,” he says, spanking her again, and not once does he lose his momentum or his power. One hand slams down against her backside and the other curls into her hair and  _ pulls,  _ keeping her head up, forcing her to look straight ahead. “You'll get on your knees and you'll ask me to touch you, ask me to fuck you. You'll plead and you'll bargain with me to let you cum, and I'll let you. Maybe. Eventually.”

Leslie swallows hard, choking down a cry that threatens to escape her mouth at the burning searing across her skin from where he's striking her. “You'll— maybe?”

“Maybe,” he affirms. “If you're good.”

_ Goddammit, goddamn him.  _ She doesn't want to be good, she wants to be  _ difficult.  _ She wants to  _ win.  _ And it occurs to her, quite suddenly, as he continues to spank her and she's writhing over the back of the couch, that in the end, there's no real way for her to win this. She can be difficult all she wants to be— but it won't end in an orgasm, just leaving her alone and sexually frustrated. If she wants to cum— which she does, clenching her thighs together— then she’ll have to find some way to give in.

_ Screw Ben. Screw him and his terrible face and his strength and his tie on her wrists and his long fingers. Screw how good he is at making her melt. _

So she doesn't say anything. She doesn't promise she’ll be good, because this is simply becoming a game of how long Leslie can hold out until she inevitably breaks. It's a test of her own strengths, of a sort, wanting to test her own limits and just how far Ben will go. And it's a sexy game, at that, one she absolutely doesn't mind playing, not when Ben is touching her like this, as much as it stings.

He spanks her and tugs at her hair, twisting and pulling until she's breathing heavy, whimpering to stop herself from crying out, her bottom lip plump and red and raw. Her wrists still tug against her restraints, the tie digging into her skin, rubbing against it, the friction rough and somehow adding even more to the entire experience.

Ben rests his hands on her ass, cupping the burning flesh, kneading gently. “You want me to touch you,” he says, and it's not a question, but a statement. He's sure of this. Leslie says nothing.

“You might not be saying anything, but I know you, Leslie.” He tightens his grip in her hair and lifts her up until she's wobbling on her feet, trying to find her balance. She nearly trips, and Ben pushes her over to lay across the couch, shoving her down onto her back, her arms pinned underneath her. “Should I take a look?” She can see his face now, and he's grinning, the smug bastard. His fingers rest of her calves. “I know you're nothing less than soaked right now.”

And she doesn't say anything, because there's nothing to say.  _ He's fucking right. _

Ben pulls Leslie’s shirt over her head and rips her bra off— literally  _ rips  _ it off, not bothering to unclasp it carefully, throwing both items to the side. Her chest is heaving and it's impossible now to hide the way she's shaking, Ben taking a seat on the couch near her feet. He watches her the entire time his hands slide upwards, from her feet to her calves and finally to her thighs, pressed very tightly together, as if she's embarrassed now to reveal herself. And Ben fucking  _ grins  _ as he digs his fingers into her thighs, spreading her legs with his hands, farther and farther apart until she's completely open to him with no where to hide.

Leslie shudders, squeezes her eyes shut.

“Look at me,” Ben demands. “Look at me.”

She does as he says, even if it takes her a moment, her cheeks flushed bright red. It feels ridiculous, to be embarrassed— Ben is her husband. He's seen her and her body more times than she can count, he’s memorized every inch of her skin and every secret spot that makes her moan. But there's something about now, as he holds her legs open, doing nothing but holding her like this and staring at her, that makes her feel exposed,  _ vulnerable. _

“Look at you,” he whispers, not even touching her, just drinking her in. “Look at you, your legs spread, exposed. You're enjoying this.”

“No,” she breathes, just barely, but he hears it.

“What was that?”

Leslie swallows hard. “No.”

There's a  _ smack,  _ and suddenly her vision is fuzzy, her head snapping to the side into the cushions. Ben’s palm had cracked across Leslie’s cheek, just once, just sharp enough that she gasps, tugging at her wrists, and then immediately following— she moans.  _ Loudly.  _ Her cheek has his handprint on it and she can feel it's sting and she  _ moans. _

It's not the first time Ben’s done it. But it is the hardest.

“This turns you on, doesn't it?” he asks her, shaking out the hand he had slapped her with. “Being treated like you're beneath me. Being humiliated. Who knew our proud and powerful Deputy Director secretly loved to be treated like a whore by her husband?”

They've talked about the use of this word before:  _ whore.  _ Because for so many years Leslie couldn't stand to hear it, and would tear into anyone who would dare to use it on her. It's degrading and disgusting, and she guesses that’s exactly why it turns her on, at the end of the day. Because it's so unlike her, it's so filthy, and years ago in experimenting with Ben she discovered her body’s reaction to humiliation, and to degradation. It didn't take long for Leslie to ask Ben to call her that, just something for him and for her. Because Leslie isn't a whore. But maybe… maybe she's Ben’s whore.

Still.  _ Don't give him the satisfaction.  _ “No,” she gasps again, as his fingers move further and further up her thigh, tracing dangerously close to her clit. “It doesn't. Doesn't turn me on.”

Ben quirks a brow. “Really? Then how come you're so wet, Les?”

Finally,  _ finally,  _ he touches her where she's aching for it most, his thumb rubbing tiny circles over her clit. Her breath hitches, and another embarrassingly loud moan follows his ministrations— he's been teasing her for long enough that she's ridiculously sensitive. So sensitive, in fact, that she loses all her patience entirely, and forgets the entire goal here.

“Just fuck me already,” Leslie hisses, and she knows instantly it's a mistake.

He pulls his hand from her, keeping her legs fully spread, and she aches at the loss of his touch, her hips bucking in response. “You want me to fuck you?” Ben repeats, staring down at her. “You're this impatient, you want me this badly already?”

Leslie chokes as his hand slides up to cup and squeeze the sides of her throat, holding her until she's squirming, staring wide-eyed up at him.  _ “Ben,”  _ she gasps, her back arching, her chin raising. He doesn't relent. “Ben—”

“Shut the fuck up,” he commands, and she listens without question. She listens because his grip on her throat is loosening and he's traveling back down again, his hand trailing over her breasts, rolling over a nipple, down her stomach, all the way back to between her legs, cupping her gently, making her gasp.

Ben doesn't hesitate. He doesn't wait. He presses one hand to her stomach to hold her in place while two of his fingers plunge into her, sliding in and out with ease. She squeaks and wriggles her hips, trying to arch and grind against him, but Ben doesn't care, he's focused on his task at hand. He finger-fucks her like his life depends on it, the muscles in his forearms working as he pushes in and out of her at record speed, vibrating her entire body with its force.

She's building. Her eyes roll back and her head falls backwards into the couch cushions, pulling her knees closer to her chest to give him better access. He's practically hovering over her with his arm tucked between their bodies, his free hand moving up to find purchase in her hair, holding her head down by pinning her blonde strands to the couch. She's gasping, moaning, getting louder the faster his fingers pound into her, curling upwards, his palm brushing her clit as he goes. She gets closer, closer, her mind going blank, so close she can feel it, her back is starting to arch and her toes starting to curl and—

_ Nothing. _

Ben ceases instantly, pulling his fingers from inside her. He watches her as she whines, pulling her legs closer to rub her thighs desperately together for friction. She opens her mouth to complain to him, and he takes the opportunity to shove his fingers— coated by her— past her lips. He shuts her mouth around his fingers and she sucks on command, tasting herself, flicking her eyes upwards to meet his.

If she's good, he’ll let her cum without her having to say anything, right?

“Anything you want to say to me?” he asks her, and she mentally swears. He pulls his fingers from her mouth with a  _ pop,  _ but she can't bring herself to speak, not yet. Not when she's breathing so hard she feels like she can't breathe, her ass and her cheek are still burning, her arms are going numb pinned underneath her, and no amount of rubbing her thighs together is enough to make her cum on her own.

No, Leslie is still stubborn. She just shakes her head.

So Ben continues. He takes a short break to allow her body to calm down before this time, his fingers find their way to her clit, rubbing slow and purposeful circles. She moans, low and in her throat, that slow burning making its way back to her.

“Just give in,” Ben whispers. “I know you want to. You're aching to, Leslie. Give in.”

She shakes her head, closing her eyes and twisting her head to the side. “No,” she gasps, her legs subconsciously spreading wider once more. “No.”

A hand reaches to grasp her breast, kneading it gently, slowly, a thumb rolling over her nipple until it hardens, until he can pinch it and twist it until she gasps. She builds much quicker this time, unable to control herself as her hips start to buck and grind against his hand, feeling herself go absolutely feral in hopes for more friction. This time, when she feels herself on the brink of orgasm, she swears her vision goes blank and she's about to see stars when, once again, Ben stops.

This time, his abrupt stop almost physically  _ pains  _ her, bucking her hips, whining so loudly she can hear herself being obnoxious, but she's unable to help it. It fucking  _ hurts.  _ She was so, so close and now it's slowly building down again, like she's on fire, and it's enough to drive anyone crazy.

So maybe she cries a little bit out of frustration.

“Ben,” she gasps, tears rolling down her red cheeks— she knows she's done for. “Ben, I'm sorry. Please. Ben. Please.”

She knows full well she's giving in. She no longer cares.

Ben grins, leaning over her, brushing her hair from her sweaty face. “What was that?” he taunts her. “I didn't quite hear you?”

She chokes on a sob.  _ “Please, Ben.” _

A look crosses his features, and he leans over her, straddling her waist, chest to chest. His face is inches from hers and he grabs her chin in his hand, squeezing tightly, his fingers digging into her cheeks. It's rough, it's degrading, it's dominant. “Please  _ what?” _

_ Fuck, she should've known he would do this. _

A tear rolls over Ben’s hand and he brushes it away, his grip tightening until it's actually difficult to speak. But she does it anyway. She would do anything at this point. “Please fuck me,” she says in her smallest voice. “Please let me cum. Please.”

It was then that a wicked grin creeps over Ben’s lips— and she knows exactly what his biggest and final card will be. Her chest tightens just at the thought. “Oh, Leslie,” he croons, “is that any way to talk your boss? Is that how you address your  _ superior?” _

She shudders, squeezes more tears out, but she knows she can do it. She wants to,  _ god, she wants to. _

“Please let me cum,” Leslie gasps. “Please,  _ Sir.” _

Ben grins at the title, releasing his grip on her chin to press a kiss right between her eyes. “Good girl,” he tells her, so softly, and the validation feels so strikingly intimate that she audibly gasps, feeling the absence of Ben as he climbs off her.

She waits for instruction.

“Good girl,” Ben says again, and she smiles in spite of herself. “My good sub. I need you to get up, go to the bedroom, and lay down on your stomach, do you understand? I want you with your head down, ass up. Do you hear me?”

Leslie nods, inching herself up off the couch. “Yes,” she says, and for good measure, as if to prove herself to him, she adds, “Sir.”

She does exactly as he says, without any hesitation. Ben knows he's won. He knows full well he's won as he watches his wife walk down the hallway to their bedroom, her hands still held together by his tie and her ass bright red from his spanking. 

Bratty Leslie will make a comeback. Ben knows that full well, and he’ll welcome her with open arms when she does. Because a fight is half the fun, and who is Leslie Knope if she doesn't put up a fight?

Ben grins, feeling satisfied, and follows his wife into the bedroom. He keeps his promise, he lets her cum. He makes sure to take very,  _ very  _ good care of her.

He always does.


End file.
